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It was snowing, and I had been walking for a long time, in high heels, but I wasn’t tired, not at all. I was also considerably underdressed for the weather. I was wearing this gorgeous chiffon-y thing, the sort of thing that that genius Evangeline Miles might have produced, and who knows? Maybe I snuck in to her Realm and bought a boatload of dresses without realising I’d done it. It’s funny: the We Love Roleplay Realm Faire is open now, and I know her designs are often featured there. I should take some of the Sidhe ladies and head over there: there are so many lovely things to be found at this wonderful Faire, and as we’re now in high Midwinter, there are sure to be special things there for Christmas.

Somewhere along the road, the snow began falling in earnest, so that I could barely see. Vaguely, I remember that the word some of my American friends use for this is white-out. That condition of not being able to see because of too fucking much snow. At some point, I recall being picked up, lifted almost as if by magic, and then there was a sensation of movement.

Soft fur brushed my cheek.

Soft fur brushed my cheek. As the snow began to fall more softly, I opened my eyes and recognised my own familiar Ballroom. I reached down to feel a strong leg beneath my hand. I felt haunches beneath my legs, and I knew I was being carried, somehow, by some benevolent Incarnation of the Forest God, that he had brought me home from wherever I’d been wandering.

As I slipped off the stag’s back, I realised my dress had changed colour.

As I slipped off the stag’s back, I realised my dress had changed colour. My wings felt different. Inside me, there was a cold wildness, and I thought of Desirie, the mad demifae queen, and her crimes, her betrayal of our folk and her alliance with the goblins, and worst of all, her rape of the Unseelie Lord Mornoth, whose soul I can see is kind and honourable. So many things ride on the decision I must make about her fate and how it is made. I thought maybe I had been wandering the Land, looking for answers to this question, all these questions. We need so much healing now. The stag’s incredible strength seemed to help me as I stood.

As I turned to thank him, I could feel a change once again in the dress.

As I turned to thank him, I could feel a change once again in the dress. How funny that my life, all the important things, seem so tied to my outward appearance. I know that as the Seelie Queen, I must be the embodiment of love and beauty, but it never ceases to amaze me that if I wake up one day feeling happy, my clothes, my hair, even my jewellery, reflect that. I giggled to see the holly berries round my brow, and the light cotton of my wings brushed against my shoulders as if to comfort me as I stood. The stag’s eyes, so warm and loving and deep, seemed to reflect the unwavering bond between me and the Land itself. I am the Land of course, and the Forest God is also the Land, but so much more.

How could I not, in the end, bow before this God of the Forest?

How could I not, in the end, bow before this God of the Forest? As he touched his nose to my lips, I felt a joining, both spiritual and sexual, a re-emergence of my connection with my Land, with my Folk, with the God Himself. He did not speak to me, but I knew, knew in my heart that he would help me on the long road ahead. I knew being Queen would be a challenge. But growing in to the role, learning all those ins and outs, all the intricacies of dealing with Sidhe so much older and more experienced than I, and knowing that I somehow have to bring them all together, lead them all into some understanding, some realisation that together we are stronger than we are apart.

Then, I took the path behind the Ballroom, to the Residence’s back door. I curled up on the couch, before the crackling fire, and fell asleep. When I woke, Nathaniel was curled up behind me, his head resting on my shoulder, and Bran had left a pot of steaming hot chocolate for us both to share when we awoke.

This dress is the Giselle Gown from Evie’s Closet. Once again, Evangeline Miles brings such subtlety and style to a simple dress. Thank you, Evie, for inspiring me. All four colours are available at this month’s We Love Roleplay event.

The poses are from the Le Poppycock La Paix gacha, which is at this months Liaison Collaborative. They are all beautiful and inspiring; not all of them come with the deer, but I chose the ones with the deer because of the story in this post.

All the hair featured in this post is from the Hairology event, which opened on the 10th of December and fills a much-needed space for us hair addicts!

My dreams grow more intense. I had the most haunting dream the other night, and I wasn’t sure about all the messages there seemed to be in it at the time, but now I think it must be about protection, and unity.

I was standing in a place that I knew to be my Bower, though it was much changed.

I was standing in a place that I knew to be my Bower, though it was much changed. There was new snowfall everywhere, and I came to myself in a little copse of trees, all alight by some magic. How beautiful, I thought. I noted the house behind me, but it seemed obvious that I had just come from there. And there was a path, and you know how sensible these things seem in dreams: I walked down it.

Everywhere, there was the mist that I have come to associate with thick, Fae magic.

Everywhere, there was the mist that I have come to associate with thick, Fae magic. To my right, I spied a gazebo that I was sure I’d seen before, and two little houses were on my left. I knew instinctively that these were Drysi and Eilian’s residences, and I wondered for a moment why there was no residence for Bronwyn. I made a mental note to ask Dyisi whether or not she’d seen anything about Bronwyn’s future. Perhaps Bronwyn is in some kind of danger. Then again, half the time I don’t know where she is anyway. At least, now that the number of injured we have just seen come through the Bower has convinced Eilian that books are more interesting than pretending to be a warrior, he can be counted on to be in his room studying most of the time, and I have some hope that he might turn out to be more sensible than I’d feared. And Drysi, well. I just hope our relationship continues to improve.

But something else caught my eye.

But something else caught my eye. At the end of the path, there was a circle of purple flowers. I laughed to think of flowers in the snow. In their midst, there was a statue of a spring goddess, or I assumed she was some aspect of spring or summer: she certainly wasn’t dressed for the snow. I found that I was holding, somehow, five votive candles, which I placed around her feet and lit: three for our Realms of Earth, Sea, and Sky, one for the creative initiator of Fire, and one to the Shining Ones.

Then I turned and saw what looked like a garden wall.

Then, I turned and saw what looked like a garden wall. But no ordinary garden, no. I could already see what peeked over the edges. It was our somewhat wilful Sithen Rose. I smiled to myself to see that someone had made it a much more secure enclosure than Davey’s well-meaning stonework, but then as I got closer I saw the gypsy’s mark on the gate post and smiled to myself.

I swear, if ever there were a more menacing plant, I have not met it.

I swear, if ever there were a more menacing plant, I have not met it. Nor would I want to. As I entered the garden, one of the roses lifted up and followed my progress round the still-existing stone enclosure, and I could swear I heard a hiss. The Sithen Rose at the old Seelie Sithen in Ashbourne was a much more benign plant than this. I wonder if it’s exposure to Maric’s roses that has made it so, well, odd. I left the walled garden quickly, resolving to have that very structure built the moment I woke up.

When I left the walled garden, I found the familiar field of flowers, blooming even in the snow.

When I left the walled garden, I found the familiar field of flowers, blooming even in the snow, and my beloved reading house. As I walked round, I saw that Wren’s treehouse still looked intact, so no need to worry about her future, at least for the moment.

The paths, now covered over with snow, seemed the same, though the central one now pointed toward the gazebo I’d rounded on my way to the Sithen Rose.

As I drew closer, I realised the gazebo was more than just a decorative piece of the garden.

As i drew closer, I realised the gazebo was more than just a decorative piece of the garden. Beneath its mosaic roof was a council table with many seats.

Of course, as with everything in dreams, this felt significant.

Of course, as with everything in dreams, this felt significant. Reflexively, i reached for the necklace I wore, then discovered that it felt unfamiliar. I looked down to find I was wearing an exquisite, perfect dragon, with a crystal clutched in its talons. The workmanship was so familiar. How odd that I didn’t remember purchasing this dragon necklace from anywhere, and how odd I’d have a dragon symbol at all: I just don’t think all that much about dragons, unless they’re Lilacor. Was I now being protected somehow by a dragon?

I couldn’t resist a little play when I finally got to the beautiful and impressive looking council table, with its big wooden chairs.

I couldn’t resist a little play when I finally got to the beautiful and impressive looking council table, with its big wooden chairs. “Oh, Lord Daecharion. How awful to see you. Do please take a seat: I’ve iced this one specially for you.” This made me cackle like a madwoman in my dream.

Still, there’s no denying the beauty and workmanship of this table.

Still, there’s no denying the beauty and workmanship of this table, even if all I could think to do with it on first glance was insult that stuffed old prick Daecharion. I did wonder what it meant, though: are we to be at war again? Will we be drawing up treaties? Are we to come together with other Fae royals from different realms and try to make sense of the cosmos?

All these questions started jumbling together in my head, and then next thing I knew, I was waking up in my own familiar bed.

Well, the bed was at least familiar.

Well, the bed was at least familiar. Nothing else was. Oh, joy: a new season, a new Bower. I went to explore to see if my dream was true, and I found a magical ladder, similar to the ones that we had in my lovely Treehouse, to take me down to the new Residence’s main level.

I descended in what I could only imagine must be intended to be Nathaniel’s office.

I descended to what I could only imagine must be intended to be Nathaniel’s office. It was full of dark wood and purple and old books. Not that I don’t like old books, mind.

Of course, my eyes lit up when I saw the kitchen!

Of course, my eyes lit up when I saw the kitchen! No more sneaking to a different building to get a midnight snack! And the table is the same one from the coffee pavilion in the old place, so that’ll be familiar at least to the children. I must go round and inspect their little houses later on.

And the rest of the main level!

And the rest of the main level! Such huge windows, and my beautiful desk, and a big window seat, and an artist’s corner with an easel! I suppose this means the Shining Ones want me to explore art again. I haven’t been painting in such a long time.

And now I imagine the bower as a snow globe.

And now I imagine the bower as a snow globe. A little circle of light. How funny it would be, to live in a snow globe.

There are dragons, and wolves, above the fireplace.

There are dragons, and wolves, above the fireplace. And I’ve been a brunette since I woke up from my dream. I don’t know what that means, either. But I am so happy not to be asleep again, like last year. I never want to sleep through another season. I think, had I not been sleeping, My King Janus might still be with me. I miss him every single day.

Mabon has come and gone, and with it the passage of the Realm’s power from the Summer Queen to the Winter King. My personal dislike and distrust for Maric notwithstanding, I believe he will do his best to keep our realm safe and secure. The ceremony was short and intense: I felt the power pour out of me as if all my breath was stolen, and I’m afraid the King must have had to carry me to my bed. Much as he might have wanted more, the physical exchange of power was an almost ritualised kiss, which I worked in to the ceremony itself. Funny how naturally being a priestess comes to me, now that I’ve been on My throne for more than a year. And what a year it’s been.

I’ve promised myself and the Fae Folk that I’ll not sleep through the winter months this year as I felt compelled to do last year. So much happened while I was hibernating in my beautiful garden, holding on to the spring.

But still, I wonder…

What does it mean to be a Winter Queen?

What does it mean to be a Winter Queen?

Turn again, Year, and Turn the Queen to Winter
Sing again, Wind, a bring her dancing centre
Call the tales of Mabon, let the power flow
Queen to King and Light to Dark and so the Seasons go.

The Queen is in her Bower, dressed in crimson gold

The Queen is in her Bower, dressed in crimson goldThe Wind has blown the Spring away and left her leaves to hold.

Am I irrelevant? Am I a beautiful figurehead with nothing to do but plan parties and try to teach my children how to interact in our world?

Am I merely the memory of spring?

Am I merely the memory of spring?

The King waits in the Shadows, cloaked with smoke and hornWe count the Summer down with him and see him rise, reborn

Oh, darkness cloaks the Lady’s Bower: watch her wear the Spring

Oh, darkness cloaks the Lady’s Bower: watch her wear the Spring

Then cast it off like Autumn rags as all the Faery sing

Then cast it off like Autumn rags as all the Faery sing.

Will I become cold and arrogant?

Shall I turn dark with the season?

How do I behave? Does my soul go cold with October?

How do I behave? Does my soul go cold with October?

Now bring her wings of gold and white, and cast her face like stone

Now bring her wings of gold and white, and cast her face like stone

Even with the season’s turning, I can still feel the warmth of summer inside me.

Even with the seasons’ turning, I can still feel the warmth of summer inside me.

What does that mean? I know I am the spirit of summer, the light of the realm, but….

And turn her Widdershins with Wind to make her Winter Throne

And turn her Widdershins with Wind to make her Winter Throne

But there is also the cold. The wind. The dark promise of long nights and short days.

The closing doors of Time will take her into Autumn’s breastAnd weave with Wind her Harvest gown, and never, never rest.

*These three beautiful dresses were featured at September’s Fair Play: Second Life is a Game event, and I meant to get this blog entry out before the event closed; unfortunately, RL got in the way. I hope to be more on top of October’s great Fair Play offerings!

I am deeply grateful to Nathaniel Ballard (benbold) for some Photoshop tweaking on the Winter Throne photographs.

Spiffy photos taken with the indispensible aid of my LumiPro. I never leave home without it!

Every day is a story here in the Wylds, and today, a day on the verge of the Autumnal Equinox, which we call Mabon, was no different. I’m accustomed to strange things happening in the treehouse, strange things happening in the Bower, and the Land itself makes changes when it wills.

And oh, my darlings, Autumn is coming.

I awoke in the ballroom, on the still-warm ground.

I awoke in the ballroom, on the still-warm ground. The soft blanket of leaves that covered me brushed away when I turned and half-rose to consider my surroundings. I’d gone to bed in my cosy room in the Treehouse, with a warm fire burning and my magical tree lantern burning slow and low above my bed. But now, the trees were dressed for Autumn, and, it seemed, so was I. Leaf wings, a leafy dress, leaves twining round my arms and legs, and the funny pinpricks of new ink on my arms and legs, my hands and feet. Even my body felt different, my face. And the cluster of autumn moths that swirled and lighted on my cheek and surrounded my eye did not faze or annoy me. It couldn’t be just another day.

And, oh! Look, my loves, at the path from the ballroom.

And oh! Look, my loves, at the path from the ballroom. Dressed in yellow and orange, the sky a twilight purple. I felt part of the landscape as I walked, barefoot, down the path an into the Bower proper. On my left, there was a large stone structure, which seemed to be at the centre of it all, but I turned in the opposite direction to see what else might be waiting for me, what the Land had done during the night.

When I turned right, I discovered a little greenhouse at the end of the path.

When I turned right, I discovered a little greenhouse at the end of the path.

I couldn’t stop myself from going inside.

I couldn’t stop myself from going inside. And I found — a room full of clocks. No less than nine clocks on the walls, on the floor, all set to the same time, pendulums out of sync with one another. The ticking alone might drive a woman mad, but when they chimed the hour — and it was seven o’clock in the morning, my loves, a time I think of as “Kitty Cat Breakfast Time,” since that was the time I used to get up and feed the cats back home in Southeast London. I am rarely up at this time here in the Wylds: night revels keep me busy and sleeping til noon is the custom here, of course. Unless you’re Nathaniel, who has to get up and deal with his morning meeting in Mysthaven each day, poor darling.

There was also a strange mask on the wall, some kind of glowing orb, unbelievable stacks of books, and somebody’s untidy and finished up of tea. Who knew what that was about. I’d come back and investigate later; for now, I wanted to take the third path, opposite the ballroom, and see what awaited me there.

Whimsical signs adorned the walkways.

Whimsical signs adorned the walkways. This one says, Once upon a time…, and the one just to my right says, Some Place Else…. I was fascinated by the signs and their little messages, so much so that I almost missed the treehouse (not the Treehouse: there was no sign of my beautiful Treehouse!) just behind me in my quest to get to the little stone house I could see peeking from behind the trees.

But first, there was a field of magical flowers to run through.

But first, there was a field of magical flowers to run through. Don’t tell Bronwyn, but I love running through those shimmering flowers as much as she does. Soon enough though, I turned to the red door.

The sign reads, “Storyteller’s Burrow”.

The sign reads, Storyteller’s Burrow, and the bell outside rang clear and bright when I pulled the cord. I could only guess what I might find inside.

inside, it was dark and cosy.

Inside, it was dark and cosy. Every surface seemed to have at least one book, and more likely ten or twelve: the fireplace behind me is filled with books. I perched on the edge of this sofa to adjust to the dim light and get my bearings.

Morning light filtered in through the windows.

Morning light filtered in through the windows. A window seat filled with books. A broken clock, also filled with books. Books and more books, everywhere I looked.

Shelves and shelves of them.

Shelves and shelves of them. The back door leading out into the flower field was propped open with a stack of books, and there were books lining the stairway up to an alcove where there was a bed, and a desk—once again, piled high with books. Nathaniel will love this place, was all I could think.

I wandered through the flower field and back to the path…

I wandered through the flower field and back to the path… where I found the large stone structure I’d seen before from afar. it looks for all the world like some kind of ancient temple, with arches for doorways and very few actual doors. Wulfrich will not be pleased at the lack of security here, but it will give the guards and Knights something to do when they’re not out fighting goblins or trying to contain those animals affected by the plague spreading through the Realm. But I don’t wish to think on those things.

The temple itself was almost completely bare of furniture, save for tea-room on the bottom level and a half-finished looking feasting hall in the large room on the higher level. Looks like I have a job to do, decorating such a place. But there are bedrooms for all the children, though I suspect Wren might spend much of her time in the little treehouse: she seems to like treehouses.

I walked through all the arches and courtyards to find one closed door.

I walked through all the arches and courtyards to find one closed door. And I knew the Land had given me a fine and private place.

Inside, my familiar old couch—we call her “Justine”.

Inside, my familiar old couch—we call her “Justine”.

And a simple table for private meals.

And a simple table for private meals.

I sank down onto the rich red rug, and knew I was home.

I sank down onto the rich, red rug, and knew I was home. The bed behind me seems made of trees, and I admit I retired to it, shortly after checking that my dressing and communication mirror was in place. I had Bran bring me a cup of chamomile tea (and thank the goddess the tea parlour was set up: there’s even an espresso machine there!), and then I retired to that lovely great bed for a much needed mid-morning nap.

I’m pleased to have so many spaces for people to stay: it looks like we will have refugees from Mysthaven staying here until we take care of that little problem with His Unseelie Majesty back at Mysthaven Castle. My hope is that Galyanna can take care of it on her own and my beloved won’t have to get involved, but there’s no telling what can happen when he is involved with things. I still get shivers when I think of Gwythyr Gwynn, and unlike the others, I say his name. Because while a name has power, speaking it gives me power. And I cannot show fear of him. I cannot.

And now, now that my morning nap’s done and I’ve been at this crappy old PC in an Internet Café, in a city that looks not unlike photographs I’ve seen of Seattle, and where there are no obvious Fae (I’m glamoured to the gills as I write this), I must get back. There is so much to do if I’m to have the place ready for the Samhain Ball, barely more than a month away now. So much to do.

I woke up in the middle of the night to do the sorts of things that even Fae Queens must do in the middle of the night, and there was… well.

There was a tree. In my bedroom. Like, right at the foot of my bed. It wasn’t the sort of thing I could miss, especially as there was a large lantern hanging off a branch positioned directly above my pillow.

Seriously, Universe? A tree? In my bedroom?

Seriously, Universe? A tree? In my bedroom? I mean, obviously I live in a treehouse. But a whole extra tree? And this one comes with books, all written in a foreign language. I don’t even recognise the text. Dyisi took a look at them earlier, and she just sort of ‘meh’ed and then we moved on to talking about boys and clothes. Yes, Dyisi and I talk about boys and clothes. Stop laughing.

So when I got back from the place where even Fae Queens have to go….

So when I got back from the place where even Fae Queens have to go… after the moonlight had clothed me in autumn, I did what any sane Queen would do upon realising there’s a strange tree full of books growing in her bedroom.

Because, duh. That’s what trees are for, right? You climb the tree, you have a think, you climb down off the tree, and it disappears from your bedroom, yes?

No.

What does happen is you go over to your little makeup table and you find an invitation. To a ball.

What does happen is you go over to your little makeup table and you find and invitation. To a ball. In a far-off realm.

Apparently some relative of Father’s needs a Royal Sidhe on his arm for some charity event. He needs someone who’s unknown and a bit exotic. Of course, the invitation doesn’t say this, but I picked it up from touching the scroll.

It’s a more contemporary Realm than ours, much more contemporary. And it has an openly Fae upper class. Should be an interesting trip. I think I’m going to go: Father wouldn’t have given my name to anyone if he thought there’d be trouble. Certainly he wouldn’t do a thing like that.

I did spend some time thinking about it, though.

I did spend some time thinking about it, though. Should I, or shouldn’t I?

There is so much going on in our Realm. A plague we don’t understand. Demifae uprisings. Goblin wars. But– a chance to ride in a limousine, have my nails done for real instead of just glamoured, check some email, post to my ‘blog’ openly instead of hiding out in an Internet Cafe in a nearby realm where they don’t like Fae at all.

And I could use the break. I think I really could.

Getting Dressed

Clutie and Dani are all excited about the trip: they want to dress me once beforehand so we can see what I’ll look like on the night. They’re hard to refuse, those two.

So Clutie and Dani do my hair and fix me up in a dress that will work in a modern realm.

So Clutie and Dani do my hair and fix me up in a dress that will work in a modern realm; : we’ll take this one, though I reserve the right to buy something new if it catches my eye! I do like what they did with the beads and the braid, though. They’re the best hairdressers ever, these two. I’m taking Clutie with me, for sure.

Should I worry about the children? About the plague? About the war? I know I should, but I want to get away. I need to get away. Does that make me a runner? Am I a running runner? Maybe I am. But I’m going. Going to have a nice time with a guy I don’t know at a party in a Realm where I’ve never been before, and the Court is just going to have to deal with it, because I’m the Queen and I say I’m going, so there.

I will be gone IRL from Friday-Monday, at a music conference with friends in Darkest Somerset. So while Gwyneth is away dancing her feet off, I’ll be singing my head off with friends old and new. Enjoy the long weekend, everyone, and I’ll see you when I get back!

Autumn Fae Photos:
Body: MaitreyaSkin: Fallen Gods, OpalFae (Eden) (Available at the Illumination Point Event!)Hair: Olive, The Powder HairEars: Soul, Uni Ears, High ElfOutfit: Flippant: Cicada Fall Fae (This was the August Group Gift at Flippant’s Main Store,so you only have a few more days to get it: after that, it goes up to 179L.)Tree: HarshLands, Fantasy Book Tree

After they left, I stood in the reception room for a long time. Just stood there. The silence that settled over the room after I gave the order seemed inescapable, as if even my breath might disrupt the quiet, the heaviness, of that moment.

He attacked Drysi. A goblin attacked my daughter. Galyanna and her Talon, Dakkon, brought the half-dead creature to me, to ask me for justice, to ask for a decision on whether he should live or die.

I asked Galyanna to tell me the circumstances under which she’d found the creature.

I asked Galyanna to tell me the circumstances under which she’d found the creature.

It seemed he had happened upon Drysi and Mikachu and had done considerable damage to poor Mika before Galyanna had arrived, attacking Drysi also in the process.

They’d tried to get some information out of him, but he knew little and when they brought him to me, he was half dead. I called for Wulfrich.

Dyisi was there, probably canoodling with Kern before this business began, but she swiftly came into the reception room to act as witness.

I heard the story. I thought, only for a second, and I looked to Wulfrich for advice. He saw my unspoken question (he always does), and he nodded.

I told them to kill him, but not to spill his blood in Faerie. I could have declared war on all the Goblin Kingdom for this breach, but I didn’t.

I ordered the taking of a life.

I ordered the taking of a life.

I ordered the taking of a life.

I can’t stop saying it, thinking it, going over it in my head. There was no other way. Had we returned him to his people, his life would have been worth only what information he could give them, and who knows what he’d know or remember in his distressed state. Better, I rationalised, that Dakkon kill him now than he be subjected to the tortures of his kith back in the Goblin holds.

I ordered the taking of a life. A life.

I ordered the taking of a life. A life. A being once living is now dead because of my words, my order, my power.

A Refusal to Mourn the Death, by Fire, of a Child in London

Never until the mankind makingBird beast and flowerFathering and all humbling darknessTells with silence the last light breakingAnd the still hourIs come of the sea tumbling in harness

And I must enter again the roundZion of the water beadAnd the synagogue of the ear of cornShall I let pray the shadow of a soundOr sow my salt seedIn the least valley of sackcloth to mourn

The majesty and burning of the child’s death.I shall not murderThe mankind of her going with a grave truthNor blaspheme down the stations of the breathWith any furtherElegy of innocence and youth.

Deep with the first dead lies London’s daughter,Robed in the long friends,The grains beyond age, the dark veins of her mother,Secret by the unmourning waterOf the riding Thames.After the first death, there is no other.

I got a good night’s sleep. In the Treehouse, I’m protected from a lot of the things that go on down in the Great Seelie Forest and farther away in the Fae Realm, but still sometimes my dreams are plagued, whether by my busy mind trying to wind itself down, some portent or other, or memories of Gwythyr, I do not know. But last night, everything was fine.

I can make my own coffee, thank you…

“I can make my own coffee, thank you,” I said to the ever-present Bran, my long-standing friend and the Steward of my House. He actually seemed a little disappointed. “It’s all good,” I said. “I promise you can make it tomorrow; it’s just that today I do not have very much to do, and I’m planning on a long, lazy morning.”

He smiled then, made his own cup, and sat down to enjoy the morning sunlight in our beautiful kitchen with me. We talked of nothing much; topics seem to ebb and flow when I talk with my old friends, even if they seem to be servants to the outside world, they’re my household, my roots, the branches upon which I build my world.

Once the mist had burned off and the day became warm, I thought I’d go down into the ballroom and do some dancing in the sun: Kern’s timely words have reminded me of the joy I take in dancing, and so this morning I took full advantage of my time and stole away down into the forest, into our beautiful dancing grove.

I don’t remember being a dancer in my old life.

I don’t remember being a dancer in my old life. I mean, there were dances at LARPs, called dances with a band and sets of four or six or eight, usually bumbling twenty-somethings who’d had too much to drink. Ah, listen to the way I talk about them now, as if they’re children. I was a child then, too. And of course there are those here who say I am still a child and not fit to rule this Realm I made with Janus, My King. How I miss him. How I miss the energy between us. When I am dancing, that’s when I think of him most. How we danced, that night that seems a lifetime ago. How we moved with the earth and the earth moved with us. How the trees sprang up around us to create our forests and fields and rivers. Yes, I miss him. So much.

“You’re a fine sight.” And there was Clutie, interrupting my reverie.

“You’re a fine sight.” And there was Clutie, interrupting my reverie.

I stopped in mid-twirl. “What do you mean by that?” I admit that I am not always the kindest person when interrupted.

“Here you are, dressed up like one of us, dancing your feet off in the middle of the morning,” she replied with no little touch of scorn. “I think you long for a simpler life. I think you want to give up the crown sometimes, stop being a Sidhe, and come into the True Magic.”

The True Magic is how the demifae sometimes describe their world. It’s true, they are the most powerful glamourers of all of us: the way they can twist and change things with mere thought or touch has always fascinated me, and I wish I had that level of magic. “But how,” I said, “would I do such a thing?”

“You couldn’t,” she said dismissively. “But you want to. Sometimes I think you just want to play all the time.”

“Doesn’t everyone?” I started into another stretch.

“No,” she said flatly. “Most of your kind, they take their responsibilities seriously. You just hand it all off to Wulfrich, or Bran, or even me. So you can play.”

I was, I admit, affronted. “Fine,” I said. “I’m irresponsible. Got any other sage advice for me, Miss Clutie?”

She was quick to apologise. “I did not mean to offend, My Queen. It’s just that sometimes…” she sighed. “Sometimes I miss Saone’s brilliance, her implacability. You have so much growing to do yet.”

I suppose it is an illustration of my immaturity that I didn’t take her words very well. “Fine,” I said again, and it was one of those woman-style ‘fine’s, the sort of word that dismisses everything. “Fine, I’ll go do something grownup.”

I heard her giggling after me. It felt like a reproach.

In fact, I didn’t do something grownup. Well, not very grownup.

In fact, I didn’t do something grownup. Well, not very grownup. I glamoured myself into a human shape and went to New York City. Because walking around the City makes me feel free and untethered. Yeah, not very grownup at all.

And where did I end up? Well, it’s a place I always go, eventually.

And where did I end up? Well, it’s a place I always go, eventually. There is a gallery in New York where many glamoured Fae show their artwork, and sometimes they even sell a few pictures to the people. I stood outside the gallery, as i always do, wondering if I”d have the courage to go in today, speak to the docent, see what I’d have to do to maybe get one of my pictures onto one of those walls.

Everyone says I should do it.. Would today be the day I’d finally go in?

Everyone says I should do it. Would today be the day I’d finally go in?

I mean, what am I really afraid of? That someone will say ‘no’ and I’ll realise my pictures are just pictures and not really art at all? Or that someone will say ‘yes’ and then there’ll be that terrible waiting feeling, wondering if anyone will buy a picture, wondering if anyone will review my work and find it wonderful or wanting? In the greater scheme of things, how can it affect me, a rejection or an acceptance, from my protected Treehouse all the way in the Wylds, the heart and soul and back forty of Faerie?

No, not today.

No, not today. I sighed as I turned, looked into the gallery’s bright window one more time, spent an hour or so dithering over jewellery and buying nothing; the necklace and earrings I was wearing garnered more interest from the sales clerk than anything I ran my hands over in this or that 5th Avenue shop.

By the time I got home, it was early evening and the servants were preparing for the now-traditional evening meal that Nathaniel and I take with all four of the children.

But I called him home early, sent a will o’ the wisp to Mysthaven, said I needed him, could he please come? I knew he would.

“No, no, Bran; I’ll get the door when he arrives.”

“No, no, Bran; I’ll get the door when he arrives.”

Bran lifted a brow at my outfit. “I see Her Majesty has some plans for the early evening. Shall I tell the children that dinner’s a little late this evening?”

I smiled; Bran always knows what I’m thinking even when I don’t take the time to make it obvious as I did today. “Yes; tell them eight o’clock,” I said as I checked the big hallway clock; it was barely four. “I think that’ll give us plenty of time. And don’t let Eilian at the wine, please.”

“Goes without saying, Your Majesty,” Bran replied smoothly. “Ah—I hear footsteps on the bridge. Shall I leave you to it?”

“Yes, please,” I replied.

“Yes, please,” I replied. And there, the sound of the door opening and my beloved’s booted footsteps in the foyer. “Hello, my love.”

Spiffy photos taken with the indispensible aid of my LumiPro. I never leave home without it!

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